Chiu and Zahir's Excellent Adventure! ?
by Person With Many Aliases
Summary: Okay. It's confirmed. Forget normalcy, Zahir Elmendorf is about as human as anyone in my old high school class. Great. You'll notice me still doing this in deadpan, rather than hysterically freaking out, and dragging my lower jaw across the ground.
1. The One Where Reality Dies

Now, honestly speaking, whether a person like me believed in the existence of Santa Claus or not... I'm more than happy to admit that I never believed in him in the first place.

Honestly, a fat old guy who should be in retirement, willingly living in one of the most isolated and coldest places in the world, and somehow still managing to visit all the homes in the world in the space of a single night? And what did he do the rest of the time? And of course, it didn't take much from me to realize that the person who appeared in our preschool Christmas events was a different person every time, and he was usually not old, or fat.

Regardless...

Mages, robots, aliens, time-travelers, mind-readers, ghosts, demons, vampires, magic, ki, alternate universes, evil organizations, etcetera, the childish fancies and general ridiculousness I had to put up with for the four years of my high school career, is now over. I have finally graduated. I'm moving up, growing out, being more mature. I am now finally ready for a boring, normal, monotonous life.

Indeed, Mahora's local universities stands at the pinnacle of educated thought, with high grade computers, focused learning centers, faculties of every kind, big fat student loans, scholarships, expensive facilities, and everything I can possibly need to help me put those insane four years behind me, and happily isolate myself in that simply normal world that built itself all over the hill of the Mahora campus.

It's very nice. They even have their own dorms. I'm already moving out of my old room and having all my precious necessities boxed up and headed over there very steadily.

Of course all my frie... er... classmates... they all try to plead with me, "Ah, Chisame! What are you doing? We've been together so long! Why are you moving out?"

Well, please! Do you really want to stay here forever! Do you think we'll hang together forever?! We've graduated from high school! Half of us have already transferred into other universities across the country already! Stop pining for the good old days and just move on!

Of course, to cut the long story short, that was that. Good bye, Class A! Good bye, weirdos! Farewell, logical fallacies! Destruction of natural physics! Mages, robots, aliens, time-travelers, mind-readers, ghosts, demons, vampires, magic, ki, alternate universes, evil organizations, etcetera! May I never see you again!

Hello, Mahora University! My shining beacon of hope after four years of unneeded stress and insanity! Good day, science! Greetings, philosophy!

Hello, my Major in Computer Sciences! Yes!

Well. It should have been.

All the classes I wanted... well... you might as well hear the conversation myself. It begun with me slamming the desk of front offices of Student Services with both my palms, adjusting my glasses and shouting.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!?"

The despicable toad, lording it over from behind his hardwood fortress that was probably made of plastic, sighed, dusted off his clothes and looked up my online records. And sighed again.

Sighed! The nerve of him!

"Miss Hasegawa, I'm terribly sorry, but there's nothing I can do. You were simply too slow in signing up for your courses for the first year, and all the classes you want are filled up.

"All of them!? Th-that's impossible!"

"What can I say? The computer courses are very popular these days. People around here like to go for office jobs these days."

"Can't I do something!?"

"You'll just have to wait until school starts, and then hope people decide to drop certain courses and open up seats for you. Honestly, you should have done this during the summer. What took up your time, that you had to put off signing up courses till now?"

(June 23: Hi! Chiu-Chiu here! Are you enjoying life? I am! As you can see, Chiu Chiu has got an nice new tan! All natural! Want to see? Nyaaaaa!)

"T-That's none of your business! I was enjoying my summer holiday!"

The nerve of this guy! Saying it's my fault? Well... still! Don't point fingers at me! Ragh!

"Well... I'm sorry, miss Hasegawa."

"Don't you have anything at all!? Any major I can follow?"

"Well, we have a few seats left for a majority of the music courses..."

Music... great. My first year, and the first thing I have to do is waste time... with a music major. I don't even play instruments! This is ridiculous!

* * *

I said as much to my old homeroom teacher in high school, in a chance meeting.

Alright, I said that my high school years were weird, and I hope never to see them ever again, but my homeroom teacher, despite his... eccentricities, he's still more mature than the likes of the entire remaining alumni that's remained here in Mahora for their studies, so I value his opinions a hundred times more. At least it makes sense!

So, my ridiculously aged teacher, tell me, as we drink tea like Englishmen, what do I do?

"Well, Chisame... why not just go ahead with music for the year? It's not like you'll lose out anything from it. You always have next year, or even just a few extra weeks to wait until you get what you want. Until then, why not try this out? You might even like it. Besides, you're always with your computers, why not do something different?"

"...Sensei, thanks to you and the club you sponsor, my last four years were entirely eaten up from your shenanigans. The last thing I need to do is 'try something new'... I've almost had too much new from high school."

He sheepishly smiles and scratches his head, "Ah, sorry about that Chisame, is that how you felt...?"

Gah! When the hell did his smile look like that!? It's scary! "U-Uh... no, not really. I'm... I'm just talking, alright!?"

"Ah, alright."

Geez. It's a good thing he's still as dense as always. Imagine what would happen if he wised up... Eek. Seriously.

"Besides," He continued, "M-Maybe people on the Internet will like Chiu playing a violin or something-"

"Don't say that out loud!"

"Sorry!"

* * *

Moving along the next few weeks, when the last of my cardboard boxes have finally made it to my new room, and the school year in Mahora begun again. Of course, for the middle schools and high schools, they had to deal with the almost traditional week of "Low Tolerance for Lateness".

So while I made my way across the campus streets of this ridiculously massive place, all across the streets I'm watched the educational equivalent of the Cannon Ball Run. Students on bikes, scooters, skateboards, cars, trams, rushing out of the local train station at full pelt, trying to reach their first day of class within ten minutes. One of the perks of University. I at least made sure, if I had to got take music, I wouldn't have to do it at some ungodly hour in the morning.

I begrudgingly made my way to the Arts department, where my future as a "music major" begun. It was a three story brick building, not too fancy, though it did have some giant glass monstrosity of a stairwell on one side. Those kinds that make you wonder "Why is that even there? Wasn't this supposed to be a normal building, not some attempt to be overly modern art deco?"

Third floor, don't get carried away, third floor. This won't be so bad... at least it's just music... nothing at all like my old homeroom... No mages, robots, aliens, time-travelers, mind-readers, ghosts, demons, vampires, magic, ki, alternate universes, evil organizations, etcetera, at least.

And there, I was met by a fair sized gaggle of people, reaching their seats, which were arrayed in a wide semi circle before the front of the room.

All of them look human... all of them look like the right age for a university student... this may work out after all...

I took care to sit somewhere in a corner in the back, and take my time to simply watch and wait, and see how this latest drama of my life would play out. Hope for the best, expect the worse...

The professor, Dewey Largo, seemed to be some uptight old guy from some place in America. I did some checking up on him online, before I began school. Apparently, he used to teach at some elementary school in America. I suppose teaching precocious brats was too "below his station" and decided to go to the first prestigious university he saw to show off how refined his artistry is.

In short, your typical professor that probably won't teach you anything useful for the entire year, while he makes you buy books he wrote for "reading curriculum", and harping on about his supposed greatness.

Very boring, very normal. Perfect.

He even looked incredibly boring, as he tromped into class, an American in his advanced years, slightly fat from years of lack of exercise, a presumably eternally set look of annoyance at his students as they fail to see his 'brilliance', the top of his dome bereft of hair, while everything around the sides was frazzled in some attempt to look like... Einstein... or Beethoven, or something, probably.

"I am Professor Largo..." He began, in those incredulous accents of foreigners that are still trying to speak Japanese, and only comes out so incredibly hackneyed...

Blah, blah, blah. Curriculum, expectations, rules, grading... all the normal stuff. I should have brought my lap top...

"...Just to make sure, just for today, I'm going to have a role call, descending by last name..."

Isn't that a bit juvenile for us? Ah, whatever. Compared to high school... high school, sheesh! Finally over! No more weird stuff... just plain... boring...

"Yuuki, Nao. vi Britannia, Lelouch. Sonozaki, Shion. Ohgami, Kenji. Nonomura, Uriko..."

Well, alright. One other foreign guy, but that's fine. Mahora's an internally renowned school, after all. Not that weird at all.

"...Kujo, Jotaro. Kawasumi, Mai. Ichinose, Kotomi. Hatsune, Miku. Hasegawa, Chisame-"

Ah, my turn to note my existence for all of five seconds before disappearing into the masses. Well, again, like I said, this looks to be the beginning of a normal life.

"Emiya, Shiro... "

Then the Professor squinted at the next name rather oddly, while trying to pronounce it.

"E-El... Elmen...dorf... Elmendorf, Zahir."

And with that, like the name, I met living hell, 24-7. But I'll let you see, yourself.

* * *

**Hasegawa Chisame Presents:**

"**Sad Deconstructions of Hopes for my Worldly Peace"**

**A Tragedy in 26 Acts**

**Life Experiences retold by Hasegawa Chisame**

* * *

**01: "The beginning of the year is cruel for people who simply want peace and quiet." - By Chisame**

* * *

Now, people like Zahir always have to make a bad first impression because they have some sort of deluded concept that they know exactly how to introduce themselves. They either have an overly obnoxious voice, or act too cute, or stand up with a loud voice to get everyone's attention...

Zahir didn't do any of that though. No, she did something far more stupid.

"Elmendorf? Zahir?" Professor Largo repeated again, since nobody actually responded the first time around. I should tell you that that day was a nice, sunny day, actually, and we could tell since our room had wide windows along one wall.

Now, Largo shrugged and was about to go to the next name, when I assume we all heard a very disconcerting noise.

Engines gunning. Very loudly.

Those of us that could, me included, turned our heads to look out the window and see what the hell exactly was getting closer to us.

Now there's a bit of a road to take before you get close to our building, unfortunately, for some of us who walk to our classes. Now, what was coming up this road was a giant trail of dust being kicked up by something moving very, very, very fast.

...Is that a bike? Holy crap it's fast! W-wait... what the hell...? Are those rocket boosters on the side of the thing and a...

WHAT THE HELL!? Is that a Gatling gun attached to the top of the handlebars!? What is this? Attack of the 70's B-Plot Action Heroes?

Incredibly, we could hear the voice of a girl shouting over something as loud as the engines on her bike. By bike, I mean one of those huge American things that seem to exist solely to destroy the pavement underneath it, and consume too much gas.

"Hold it, hold it, HOLD IT! I'm not LATE!"

Now, this part defies all forms of common sense. Normally, a person, even if they are late, would have the common sense to slow their vehicle down so they can park, run up the stairs, and be late in a tried and true ritualistic manner. Not this person. No she kept going at the same speed, which was really fast. In front of our building was a small bike rack, for people to lock up their bicycles for safe keeping during classes.

Let me explain exactly what happened next, in one whole blurb. The girl on the bike rampaging at full speed, _deliberately crashes into this bike stand_. Without seat belts, this girl _catapults upward through the air towards the windows of our classroom_. She then proceeds to ball up, and _smashes through the windows._ All of us, at this point had been ducking for cover. All the while, as she rockets through the air, she's giving some war whoop.

"Never fear! The Culmination of World Peace and Awesomeness has arrived! Zahir Elmendorf is-"

Flying across the room, and smashing into the opposite wall, then falling limply onto the ground in a unceremonious pile.

At this point, most of us were getting out from behind our cover. I don't know about them, but I recall myself having a distinct twinge of eyebrows and something in my head going "What the HELL!?" Of course, all of us were still a bit stunned at this display of incredulous stupidity, and we weren't quite sure what to do with the body that was twitching on the floor.

Was it dead? Should we call for help? Did anybody actually take a picture of her flying through the window like that? I mean, _dude._

One of the arms on the pile managed to work feebly, "A-ahh... I'm dead..."

Not quite. I, for one, though, have this sudden compulsion to enforce your demise.

"NAAARRGGGH! SMOKE ON THE WATER!" She screamed, as she suddenly air guitared her way back onto her knees.

Yes. Air guitar.

Actually, this would be a good time to let you know what this Zahir Elmendorf, who went through a window and into a wall with apparently no sign of slowing down, looks like. Now, you have to remember that by being in university, we've been promoted from the banalities of high school. Some of those things include uniform. I try to generally disappear with something boring and understated and potentially prudish.

Zahir, though, when we first saw her... Ah, I hate to remember this all, but alas:

Looking at her face (and ignoring the giant river of blood that was going down from her forehead), she had really dark skin, dark eyes that were always smoldering with some ploy of unparalleled idiocy. Her teeth... well, I don't think I ever saw her eat vegetables regularly. I swear, I think I see fangs in those things. It doesn't help that she's usually being loud or smiling or grinning. Egh. Plus, her black hair was... peculiar... I don't know how to put it, but it seems that it ran behind her back and and stopped off at her shoulder blades in separate points. Now, when I say 'separate points', I mean like her hair was like... quills, or something. This incomprehensible mess of hair was pushed back by a pair of goggles she was wearing over her head like some headband.

As for how she was dressing... well, obviously she succeeded in trying to convince everyone she lived in some import Hard Rock Cafe.

Let me explain. Tight white blouse, mariachi pants, pointed leather shoes with a bit of heel, there were the useless utilities known as 'fingerless gloves' (there's no point wearing gloves if you're not going to protect your fingers.), and her coat...

Which defies explanation. I don't even know where a human being could get something like it... It kinda looked like a leather overcoat... but the sleeves were ridiculously wide and short, so that they ended at the elbows, and they looked large enough to hid a laptop in. Like a Dell. That wasn't the weird part though. Add to this enough metal studs to blind a man, and an uneven length of chain mail that had been screwed onto the back.

Chain mail. _Chain mail._

And just in case Zahir didn't think you didn't get the idea, she had an electric guitar hanging off off her back for no reason at all.

"Don't be afraid! The future Demon God of Rock, Zahir Elmendorf, IS ALIVE!" This girl proceeded to snarl defiantly with a huge grin, one hand on her hip, another sticking its finger out quite rudely (wow, those nails are sharp...), and she was still bleeding from the forehead.

We were all staring at this point, until the professor gasped.

"Y-you're bleeding! Do you need help?"

Zahir went 'huh?' for a second before putting a hand to her face, which came off red. She then gave another supposedly awe-inspiring smiles. It just weirded us out.

"Don't be afraid, mentor of the musical arts! For a Demon God of Rock, bleeding is brutal hardcore, and not a crime! I won't be held back by simple injuries! I am here to learn! Continue on!"

"...Huh?"

It was at this point I realized a nightmare came true, one that I didn't even think I had, or was even possible:

The idiocy and insanity of high school... had actually been _condensed._

WHAT THE HELL!?

Professor Largo tried to finish the role call.

I was trying to not pay attention to who was sitting beside me. Me of all people. She was just sitting there all flippant and happy while holding a tissue that was loaned to her, to her head.

("Ah... er... Asakura, Ryoko.")

"Yo! Did you like my entrance?"

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. What crime did I commit in a past life for this to happen?

("Anisawa, Meito... Well... looks like we're all here.")

"...Oi, oi, chica. I'm just trying to have a nice conversation here..."

I'm not listening... not listening... I should have brought a laptop... oh god...

I got no choice. If I stay quiet, she'll just keep talking... I have to find a way to shut her up with my own conversation.

"L-Look... were you really serious about that... demon... thing...?"

"Of course! People may not know it, but training to become a Demon God of Rock is a perfectly viable and profitable career opportunity to be taken while pursuing music as an academic study!"

She... just said that all with a straight face. That's beyond... this woman... she's... I mean...

She put up a thumbs up, grinning, "Don't act so surprised. In this world, there are things like that, you know! Nyo ho!"

...Nyo ho? What kind of snicker is that? What the hell happened to my first day of university!?

Professor Largo continued to drone on about his expectations of our classwork. I'm starting to get this sensation that he doesn't really believe in creative processes. Though I tried to ignore the person beside me, she was still making all kinds of noises quietly. Humming and growling and pouting...

You know how when you're trying to watch something that means something to you, but there are two people behind you that are whispering? They try to be quiet about it, but they only become that much more distracting because you're wondering what the hell could be so important that they decided to talk in a middle of a show. Plus, it almost sounds like whispering actually makes them louder, because you can still hear the high pitched "whis-whis-whis" as they try so hard to be quiet, and the annoyance increases exponentially. And this is happening right beside me while I'm trying to pay attention to the Professor.

So in the end, I'm forced to look at her, "What are you whining about?"

"He's not teaching us anything..." She muttered, sinking into her seat. She's also somehow doing this while she's still wearing an electric guitar.

"He's not supposed to on the first day of class. He's just getting us settled into his... multiple expectations."

"That's no excuse! We're here to learn music! He should be cramming this kinda stuff down our throats from the get go, otherwise there's no point being here!"

"He is cramming stuff... look, he just told us about how our final exam is going to be a project, rather."

"Agh, he can just tell this stuff to us on a need-to-know basis-"

Largo cut in, telling us off, "Hey! You two, stop talking! I'm in the middle of a lecture!"

I was about to say sorry, just to get things over with, even if I wasn't sincere. Then she decided to stand on her chair. Remember this was the first day of class.

"Hey! Professor! The two of us think you should be teaching us instead of telling us rules!" She said, pointing at the Professor across the room.

Wait, "we"? Don't associate me with you!

"You two be quiet! Just follow the syllabus and I'll tell you how to do music!"

"Then do it faster! I wanna see what else I can do with a guitar!"

"This class isn't for guitars! Here we do the only true, classical instruments!"

I have a feeling the rest of the class is being left out of this long range argument...

"Ah! That's not true! I declare that the electric guitar and metal are good stuff!"

"It's ugly and unrefined!"

"It's pretty, aggressive music! You just don't believe in the creativity of modern music! This generation may be going through hard times, but I believe that we'll one day look fondly upon this time and realize we created good stuff, too!"

...Is she even addressing us anymore? Somewhere out there, I bet there's a trumpet fanfare going on.

The professor slammed his hands onto the large table he was behind, "That's not important! You're not hear to learn how to be creative! I will not allow creative thought in this class! The only thing that matters is using instruments as I say!"

"...Agh! That pisses me off! You just pissed off the wrong Mexican! This is war! War, I say! We're going to have a recreation of the Alamo! Mexico won't lose to you Americans! Nyo ho!"

Wow. First day, and we've already had a break down of human civilization.

* * *

"Pah! I should have known I'd gain a teacher-nemesis so soon... But I have no fear... Demon Gods of Rock will always prevail, because we totally rock the FUCK OUT!"

...What?

She folded her arms, while she sat beside me and nodded to herself, her guitar somehow still attached to her back.

"Say, you're with me on this, right, chica? We're buddies, right? One always have friends, where possible."

...Hah?

"What?"

"We're not in Intro Music anymore."

"I know."

"We're in Music History."

"Yeah, chica?"

"We're in an entirely different room."

"Yeh, it's great to be out!" She said, stretching her arms above her head, and twisting her neck with audible cracks.

"Why are you still sitting beside me!? It's not the same class anymore!"

"I know that...?"

"I'm taking Music History! You... go take something else!"

"But I'm in Music History too, you know." She said with a shrug and a helpless grin, like that's suppose to make me feel better. All it did was make my eyes widen in horror. I mean, another class with her? She's still sitting beside me! Nothing's changed!

"...No way."

"Well, it's true you know. We can even compare schedules!"

"...That's probably a bad idea for me... I know what's going to happen."

"What?"

Here's to me slumping over the fold-out table of my lecture seat, "I don't even want to say. As long as it's not asserted fact, I have plausible deniability that what's probably true may not actually be true."

"...Just compare the schedules! There's no trouble in it!" She said, somewhat exasperated. I suppose I could understand, if we traded positions. But I won't.

"No. I want my deniability."

"...Compare."

"No."

"Compare!"

"No."

"You shall obey a DGoR!"

"You're not one yet."

"...Compare!"

"No."

"Maybe she'll respond to my heartfelt music...?" She murmured to herself, as she reached for her guitar. I'm not sure what she can accomplished, since those things need an electrical supply and one of those speakers, but still-

Then she brought those suspiciously sharpened nails on her fingers across the guitar, leaving skritchy-twanging death in my ears, while she crooned.

"BREAKING THE LAW-BREAKING THE LAW! BREAKING THE LAW-BREAKING THE LAW!"

Of course, it hurt to be beside her, but there were other people in the room besides us, so they were complaining, too. But they were complaining at _me_, as well!

"Oi! Shut up!"

"You two! Cut it out!"

"Shut your friend up!"

Hey! You think I would honestly want to be paired with her- Gagh! Shut up, you!

"Ah, you don't need to be so harsh... I was just hoping to get you to see things my way-"

"You're trying to kill me!"

And what did she do? She just scratched her head sheepishly, as if it were no big deal!

Needless to say, I was so irritated by this... idiot, I just wanted to get her out of my hair as soon as possible. This entailed reaching into my carrier bag and throwing at her a lined sheet I had printed out.

"You know what? Fine, just look at my schedule, compare, and just don't say anything about it!"

She would have. She's probably the type to take any demand seriously enough, but still, as she compared our schedules, and I was trying to look as annoyed as possible, she gave out this irritatingly deceptive, "Ooooohhh!"

"W-What?"

"Look for yourself!"

The way she said that was so sincere and honest, I actually found myself being drawn to see what was up. Of course, I paid for it dearly, seeing what I did.

* * *

Luckily, my schedule had a sizable space for lunch. So first thing I did, I jetted out of the building, headed to one of Mahora's giant cafeterias, aka, a practical five-star restaurant, so I could fill a table, with my face down and having a nice long baleful:

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaauuuuurrrrrrggggggghhhh..."

Something like that. Being alive is not fun.

Here I thought moving out would mark a fresh start of my life. Instead, the majority of classes that I didn't even want, are side by side by some psychotic Mexican girl who's under the assumption that Rock music is some form of religion. Joy. Hell has come to me in a Hand basket. Yes, I meant it that way, I didn't say it wrong.

That's not even half the troubles. I was hoping before, at least, that I could cut my troubles in half, before the advent of Elmendorf. But no! Listen to the table behind me. Two middle school ditzes of something or other are giggling the latest "trend". I call it an abomination. Just listen!

"(Insert Tee Hee Here)Don't you just love that new album by Mick Rastly?"

"(Insert Oh My God Here)Mick Rastly is soo cute!(Insert Tee Hee Here)"

"(Insert Like Totally Here)"

"(Insert So Like Here)Of course you know about the concert here, right?"

"(Insert Oh My God Here)(Insert Oh My God Here)I know! I have so many tickets reserved, because I wanna see Mick Rastly in front of the World Tree! He's the best musician ever!"

Mick Rastly. Mick Rastly, Mick Rastly, Mick Rastly. Gagh. You try getting through these years without even hearing his existence. He's some stupid new pop sensation that's been taking over the world by storm. He's ridiculously popular for reasons I can't even fathom, all because of his stupid single "I'm Never Going to Give You Up". Apparently it's the most romantic thing since somebody decided to pair off red wine with cheese. You probably can't fathom how annoying this trend is. All the girls (save me, practically) are going nuts over him. How he's so "cute" or "sweet". It's disgusting.

Has anyone even met the guy, face to face? All he does is show up in blogs and online news all over the internet, and give out most of his songs for download. But he's never shown up for interviews by whatever tacky music or radio station there is. All he does is make music like some dispensary, and people suddenly decide he's the greatest thing ever? Talk about brain washing. Not a day goes by where there's some giggly brainless student ranting on about Mick Rastly.

I hate him. I hate him and his website. Argh! Everyday it keeps picking up more hits than any other website I've seen. Stupid fan listings, fan sites, biographies, downloadables. All this cheap garbage for a person we only see in pictures and his stupid song!

He's so popular he's become a medium for pranking! People post up fake hyper links everywhere, it it just leads to his song on an online streaming site, and they just jeer and say that stupid "You got Mick Moled!" It's even hit my website, by my own fanboys and fangirls! What the hell!?

Mick Moled!? Has this universe gone insane!?

I should really thank my homeroom teacher. Despite... extenuating circumstances those four years back, at least my control over the Internet is secure, and "Chi-u.co.jp" is still the number one site worldwide...

Still! Between Zahir Elmendorf screwing up my normal life, and Mick Rastly screwing up the internet, I might as well just take a gap year and disappear off the face of the earth! Who's the idiot running this show called my life!? Am I some universal butt-monkey to be made light of!?

I'll show you! Hasegawa Chisame won't go down without a fight! Waiter! Check please!

* * *

My dorm room is located on the top floor, with a good view of the area of Mahora that the universities are situated mainly. I don't really care about that. I just need to get to my room! Get to my computer! The elevators are too slow! The stairways take too much time! The hallways are too long!

Go! Chiu! Conquer the world! I'll destroy all the obstacles in my way! Not with brute force, but with the power of social psychology and eloquence! Ah, cyber warfare is the best! I can already see the blog entries forming...

(Ah! Chiu-Chiu had a horrible day today! I was having a perfectly happy time when this crazy lady with a guitar came out of nowhere and assaulted me! Ah! Such a mean person! She should be ashamed!)

Yes! Yes! Take that, Elmendorf! You will never be able to set another foot outside the door again without people giving you shifty looks! And you, you stupid pop sensation! I'll just have the fans attack your website and eat up your bandwidth and kill you!

No one can defeat Chiu! Undefeated Hacker Genius Net Idol! I will have my normal life back again!

Yes! My room! Everything I ever need is here! My giant array of PCs running in parallel! My large monitors! The editing software 'PhotoShock', the camera equipment, the costumes! A lot of it is all packed, still packed away in the boxes, as you can see Zahir poking through one of them as she's sitting on the floor-

"Yo, chica!"

I'm going to show this world what it means to cross me! I'm going to look my greatest and-

Wait a minute... Zahir? That's not right. Let's try that again.

My room! Everything is here! My giant array of PCs running in parallel! My large monitors! The editing software, the camera equipment, the costumes! A lot of it is all packed, still packed away in the boxes, as you can see Zahir poking through one of them as she's sitting on the floor, staring at me weird-

"What, forget something?"

I'm going to show this world what it means to cross me! I'm going to look my greatest and-

What the hell!? Something's off here! One! More! Time!

Room! Everything! PCs! Monitors! Software, equipment, costumes! A lot of it still packed, as you can see Zahir-

"Do you have some fixation with the door, chica?

Oh, that's what was off. Meanwhile, my mouth and body are doing a nice big:

"OOOOAAAAUUURGGGGHHAAAAGGGHH!?"

"Oi, oi, there's no need to get excited, chica."

"W-What are you doing in my room!?"

Sh-she's not reacting to my indignant pointing! Somebody help! This freak's in my room! My last bastion of peace and quiet!

"What, didn't you pay attention to the room sign ups? By the way, which bunk you wanna sleep in?"

Bunk... room sign ups...? Y-you mean, they didn't pay attention to my request to have a single room?

"Ah, not really. First years like us usually don't have it easy. Still, we're going to have a great year together, right?"

...ARRRRRGGGGGGHHHH.

* * *

**Sept 11: Hi! Hi! Everyone! My lovely fans! Chiu Chiu here! Sorry, everyone! Moving in is hard work! I don't have any nice pictures today! But I'll be sure to make it up to you, with some cute new get ups!-**

"Get away from my clothes, Elmendorf!"

"But... wow... Bunny girl..."

"Hands! Off! Unpack your own things!"

"Fine... geez, but I don't have as much of my own stuff, chica..."

**-The new life here is hard. All my classes are so far away! I also have to share my room with some scary girl from another country. I hope she's not too mean to Chiu Chiu, here... I hope you, my dear fans, will look after me...**

"Ah!! An empty closet! This half of the room is officially conquered territory of Zahir Elmendorf! Nyo ho ho!"

Look, I know I said I was going to defile Elmendorf's reputation, as well as the reputation of that whoever Pop Star... but it's really hard to do it when you're still unpacking, and also fighting for space with your new roommate who you're supposed to be deriding online. You know, she can look over your shoulder anytime. I wouldn't put it past her to do it at some inopportune time.

I already learned from it just happening once, with my old homeroom teacher. God, that was embarrassing...

My room, even though it's still strewn with wires and cardboard boxes, and perhaps one or two of Elmendorf's suitcases, since they obviously aren't mine... well, it's still livable.

As with all Mahora, which is brimming with enough cash to choke on, the room is huge. Tucked into a corner of the room, beside the window facing out, is the bunk bed. I was going to actually plan on dismantling the bottom one... but I can't anymore. There's still enough space under the bottom bunk to store whatever I need... I might as well go with the bottom one, too. Directly underneath the window are the usual two desks for the occupants of the room. The opposite end of the room is partly cut off by a counter to indicate a kitchenette, with some cupboards and a working stove set. The back wall is mainly built out of an installed (and a very large) closet with sliding door that was under some impression that the university would be having a royal entourage for students. There's a door on either side of the closet. One leads out into the halls. The other leads into a small bathroom, with a toilet, sink, and a tub. In the center of the room is a small, solid wood coffee table. I hope that thing's stowable...

Mahora really goes all out to service our necessities, doesn't it? Crazy people.

Like Elmendorf said though, she didn't have very much to put away. So I at least have the majority of the room for my personal space and to use as a photo studio. A lot of it is still strewn with props and and the continually mentioned cardboard boxes, and other photography equipment that hasn't been fully assembled.

Elemendorf, unfortunately, still has quite a command of the visual aesthetic. While not enough to drown the room, showing she has some semblance of taste. I still can close my eyes and recite by name the bands on the posters across the walls, due to sheer over exposure. Zahir's desk isn't particularly showy. Just some pathetic commercial laptop that's overly touted for it's ability to play DVD and will probably crash due to fact it has a notoriously unstable Vindows XD installed. Her drawers, however, are a chockful of movies that look ready to explode out of storage.

Even if I have most the closet for my own, a portion of it is still that Mexican's. You can tell. Nearly all of it is my usual stuff... then it suddenly goes to black and leather and metal. Some of it can be called "Plausibly wearable", and a lot of it is also "Danger: Do not approach live current while wearing this", or "Do not approach insane asylum in these straps and buckles".

And of course, she has some five different guitars lined up against the outward facing side of the Kitchenette counter. Five guitars. Don't you just need one? What kind of human being needs five guitars?

"Hey, this is nothing for a real Demon God of Rock..." She called back from the kitchen, apparently fixing something up for herself. I'm quickly beginning to guess she'll be there more often...

"Right. I suppose a 'real' one will have rooms full of guitars?"

"Nigel Tufnel and Skwissgar Skiwgelf."

"Who're they?"

"Awesome. I think one of them fought off a dragon with his guitar."

...Okaay. I'm seriously hoping she's just being stupid and not actually telling the truth there. Aside from that, what's with that guitar, actually?

"Which one?" Elmendorf asked with her back turned, while throwing something onto a frying pan with an audible sizzle.

Now, I say that Elemendorf's first four guitars looked pretty normal, including the one was wearing around all day. But aside from all those hardwood models, there was that peculiar other one...

I'll be a bit anachronistic just for the sake of making it easier to describe. Elmendorf explained a bit later that the guitar was actually an electric Bass, due to the length of the neck and the four tuning pegs it had for tightening and tuning strings. Aside from that though, it sure didn't look like it was even capable of producing noise. The body of the guitar was entirely done in gunmetal. In fact, it was made of metal, period. It looked like it was just solid steel. No dials, plugs, or anything else. It was just this giant block of sharp edges, like a polygon. Coming straight out of the body in a solid, blocky piece, was the neck. It didn't even look thin enough to grasp with your fingers. No curves, or anything. Just this giant, white, sharp-edged block that tapered off into a headstock that jagged away diagonally. I don't think there are even _strings_ on this thing. It's... just a giant piece of guitar shaped metal...

"So, what exactly is that?"

"It's a 'Tar."

"That can't possibly be a guitar..."

"Well... it is... and it isn't. It's a 'Tar, chica."

"And stop calling me that."

Elmendorf looked at me strangely, as if my demands was too much to ask, "Why? You need a nickname."

"I already have a nickname..." I let out with an off hand mutter of disgust. No matter how hard I tried, my alumni eventually found out about "Chiu"... and that stupid rat also went with "Chiucchi"...

"Really? What was it?"

"Like I'm going to tell you?"

"Ah, you don't have to be so cold, chica... we're roommates, after all! Therefore, it's in our best interests to-ah! My dinner...!"

I took advantage of the lull due to Elmendorf forgetting she was actually cooking... I swear, I can already see her forgetting she's in a restaurant, and while talking about whatever rock thing, stabbing herself with a knife, because her mouth and her brain are entirely separate. Idiot.

"Look, we're just roommates. Nothing more. Even if we're in the same classes most of the time, I expect you to keep your distance. I don't want you poking around in my stuff, and I won't poke around in your-WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?"

She was chewing on something directly off the pan... something made of meat that had only been frying for a few minutes...

"Dinner... I don't think you'd want any though, chica..."

"Is that thing even properly cooked!? Don't just eat it so casually like that!"

"But I like my meat like this... like... super-ultra-rare..."

"That's not even rare! There's blood coming out of it still! You're going to get foot-and-mouth or something and infect my room! Stop eating that!"

"Ah! Rude!" Elemendorf frowned back, this red-gray hunk of flesh between her sharp teeth. Something sounded on her laptop, making her suddenly change her attention, "Ah! Messages!"

Why did I have to have a high-energy roommate... this is like dealing with a child!

"Ooooh... bounty...? This one's worth a lot..."

Yeah, and she's suddenly playing computer games with a half-cooked lump of meat in her mouth. As for me, I have better things to turn my attention to. After all, my website is always in need of maintenance...

Wait... wait... hold on... that can't be right...?

AGH!?

**Web Ratings:**

**4: Chiu-san: 191238561839 Hits**

**3: Rastly-sama fan listing: 278309971280672 Hits**

**2. Mick Wiki: 680986544688172659262 Hits**

**1: MR Homepage: 71204093105616312956120 Hits**

WHAT!? Mick Rastly surpassed me!? WHAT!? WHAT THE HELL!? I'M NUMBER ONE! I'm even manipulating the web in order to do that! Kincha! Negi! Konnya! Anyone one of you furry punks! Get out here and explain how he's surpassing my website ratings that's being assisted not one, two, or three, but _eight electronics spirits created by magic!?_

One of my mouse-like assistants appeared on one of my monitors, doing an equivalent of e-sweating nervously.

"S-Sorry master! We all tried our best, but when the websites started talking about this pop star guy doing a concert in Mahora, we couldn't stop the ratings from overtaking you! We don't understand, ourselves what's going on!"

"You guys are supposed to be the rulers of the Internet or something!"

"We never were such...! We're just your assistants, master!"

"Agh! Are you saying that even after four years, and all the time I took to install all those patches and mods... **you guys are still just as useless as ever!**"

"Oi, something up?"

I could have jumped out of my seat at that. Elmendorf was looking over from her own laptop with another of those looks, while swallowing the last of her dinner. Is that look... was she accusing me of looking weird? How dare she! You're one to talk, you metalhead with all those clothes and no common sense and eating undercooked foods and your bike that has rocket engines and Gatling guns on it!

"N-nothing..." That was all I could manage to say while keeping a straight face and turning back to typing nothing on my computer. She just shrugged and went back to... whatever 'bounty' thing she was doing.

Gah! Mick Rastly overtook me on the web? That's impossible! I have total control of the net! The only way someone like him could do it if is if he had a several super computers or some equivalent computing power able to counter the systems I put in place... who is this guy? Something's up...

If my eight guys can't keep up with whatever system this guy is running to show off his stupid website, then there's no way a purely human effort would do anything. Even me. It'd just get swept away, no problem.

This is like the program used during that Mahora Fest, on steroids... what's this guy planning to do?

Mick Rastly's concert in front of the World Tree... and it's being set up and rehearsing over the past few days...

Ah! Geez! It can't be helped! If I lost my best tool, then I'm just going to ask him personally!

"Elmendorf! I'm going out!"

"Out? Now? Isn't it late?"

"I don't care! I've got somebody to meet!"

"Boyfriend?"

"Shut up! It's a mortal enemy!"

"Oh... so, like... you're pretending to hate him-"

"We're getting off topic! I'll see you later!"

* * *

Stupid Zahir Elmendorf.

Stupid Mick Rastly.

Stupid weird things getting in the way of what should have been just the beginning of the rest of my life!

Someone's going to pay, and I can see the amphitheater underneath the World Tree in the distance already.

Good god, did the designer of that stage have no taste. The original shell of the performance stage is already competent enough, you don't need to add another ten thousand gaudy scaffolds and spotlights and other sparkly whatevers. Of course, it's not completely finished yet, from what I can see... the mats and the backdrop hasn't been fully installed yet...

Now, I was getting closer to the stage when I recognized something peculiar: there was someone standing on the stage. It wasn't like some workers were doing some late night work on the platform. There was just one guy standing there-

Wait, is that Mick? Is that Mick standing in the middle of the stage? Or is that a cardboard cut out standing there for no reason? That's impossible. There's no reason an arrogant, overly popular stuck up prig of a so called musician would want to stand on stage when they normally are too busy being lazy or partying all over the place.

That and the person is standing like a statue. I mean... that... _thing_ is fully three dimensional, exactly with the appearance of Mick Rastly in his music video, what with that drab, tan trenchcoat over his black clothes, and that red hair and probably even those freckles that are apparently custom mad to send girls into fits of diabetic, worshipful giggle fits.

But he's just standing there, stock straight. Isn't that tiring? Is he even _blinking_?

Whatever. Whether this is Mick or some... well... Mick looking thing, I might as well find out.

Of course, after walking forward some distance to finally reach the edge of the seats surrounding the amphitheater, I felt something had... _changed._

I don't think you'd believe me if I said that. I walked forward, and nothing visibly changed. There was no magic forcefield I passed through, or sudden gust of wind that made me close my eyes for a second... I just walked forward, and the very air around me, in the whole of the amphitheater was different.

It's hard to describe. It's kind of like when you try to compare a cartoon's drawing to real life. No matter how hard a drawing might try to be photo realistic, with all the shading, and special effects, drawing style, or ridiculous budget, they still can't get rid of solid colors and shadows, the little imperfect details of real life that never gets translated into real life. How clothes crease and change a hundred different ways, but you never see it in a cartoon, and why it never translates well in real life.

I'm still trying figure out that weakness in my cosplay. It's difficult.

But regardless... it was that dissonance that at I felt as I suspiciously went down those steps towards the front stage.

Something's wrong. What could be wrong? Everything looks right... maybe I'm imagining things... I really hope I'm just imagining things...

I was still unsure. I checked my pocket, making sure my card my old homeroom teacher gave me was there. It wasn't really intended for use in the real world, but I had practice enough to use it to at least defend myself long enough to escape.

Gah. Those training and experiences from the four years keep making my danger sense jump into levels practically reaching that of paranoia.

Come on! It's just some idiot pop singer!

...He's still standing there, staring into the seats like I'm not there. Yeah, my card is still there, good.

"Hey! You! You're Mick Rastly, right? Hey! Answer me!"

"...Download Progress: 30 percent."

Wait... what... hah!? What the hell? Download?

While I was freaking out, I'm sure you noticed all the obvious clues I've left through out this narrative, leading up to this big moment.

The dull roar of engines. Subtle at first, then rapidly growing louder. I can probably dully expect the giant plume of dust flying into the air. Even though the conclusion was still obvious, I was probably still reeling from Mick's idiotic reply, so I turned around, letting my eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as I saw Zahir Elmendorf, riding her bike with rocket boosters and a Gatling gun, on her back that black and white guitar shaped piece of metal.

When I say "riding her bike", it usually involves one or both wheels not touching the ground at some point, as she was currently doing, by soaring into the air above the gradual slope of seats. I don't think Elmendorf had any notion of how to land, much less any actual plan.

I seriously would have said something, but honestly, between the whole "being possibly in a bubble universe, with a pop star talking like he's a computer, and a flying Mexican", I was kind of too busy trying to convince myself that this was probably a delusion, or a dream, or maybe I accidentally ate Elemendorf's "dinner".

"Mick Rastly! You stupid OC! Time for the Demon Gods of Rock to save the world! I WANT MY NINE THOUSAND STYLISH POINTS!"

And while she was flying through the air, Mick Rastly responded.

"Warning. Error Anomaly approaching. Loading Personality Defense Program... Oh, baby! You aren't going to put be down before my limelight comes!"

This is me just standing in the middle of the seats, still seeing the breakdown of reality AGAIN.

Elmendorf slammed down onto the stairs in a shower of sparks that couldn't have been good for the bike at all, before swerving to a stop in front of the stage, with her toothy grin and goggles over her eyes. She then pulled her guitar off her back, and reached for a safety locking pin I didn't notice on the guitar before, and pried it off.

"Safety off..."

She clutched the neck of her "Tar" with both hands,before giving a firm swing. The black steel body slid off the neck like it was some sort of sheath.

Actually, it was, thinking about it.

Concealed within the black body of the guitar, remained a white handle that was separated from the remainder of her guitar by an inset band of red. Flipping her mechanism, Elmendorf held the white neck of her guitar with both hands by the previously concealed bottom.

"...Beam Katana'tar... ON!"

The rectangular shaft got coated in a dull white glow, and a loud, recognizable whine.

...I'm going to see Zahir Elmendorf is going to fight Mick Rastly... with a laser sword...

"WHAT THE HELL!?"

She turned around, and finally noticed me. There was a few seconds of only hearing Elmendorf's blade up as she regarded me.

"...Hey, chica!"

That's all you can say!?

* * *

I wonder who invented Beef Jerky. Or why. Chewiness isn't a good selling point. Tobacco is chewy. Gum is chewy. Why not make beef-flavored gum? "Bursting in your mouth, the rich, smoky flavor of cow." But it doesn't work. Beef Jerky makes you thirsty and your jaws hurt if you eat too much. They probably use too much preservative, too. If you want to eat healthy cow, just eat it. What's all this business about leaving it to hang dry in the sun? Steak's the only way to go.

Next up, "Would you believe me if I said that we're in the middle of a totally awesome war?" By Zahir.


	2. The One With Explanations

"**H-H-H-HELLOO! This is Porno Graffiti Music Hour, "Love up station"! Stay tuned..."**

I'd like to believe I'm a morning person. I don't require an alarm. I wake up at around seven or eight. I like the bit of peace and quiet. I'm a morning person.

Of course, then my few moments of tranquility have to be shattered by guitars and screeching coming out of the radio at full volume, right beside me. Why is that even there?

This blaring and ridiculous music coming out of the alarm clock-radio is not necessary! Rock music in the morning is not necessary! This... this stupid radio Music Hour...!

As I tried to kill the machine with my bare hands, and without the aid of my glasses, I could hear something die at the foot of my bed.

"Five...five more... minutes... Mick... I'll... hug you to death...!"

What was-!?

Oh. Wait. It's just Elemendorf fast asleep, half dressed on the floor, face down. And her hands are attached to the rungs of the ladder of the bunk bed.

She fell asleep in the middle of getting into bed. Wow. Then again, last night was pretty hectic.

Wow. Look at the time.

...Holy crap, how did it get so late in the morning!? I'm... I'm a morning person!

No, wait, don't answer. That was a rhetorical question. Honestly. I'm in the middle of fighting for my life to make it to classes on time. Even if they are music classes which I hate. Alas, waste not, want not.

Tripping over unpacked boxes, throwing my clothes off so I could jump into the first feasible outside wear I could find.

Oh yeah, I'm not a happy camper. Can't even eat breakfast. And my stuff's strewn all over the place-

ELMENDORF! STOP SLEEPING SO BLISSFULLY! HOW DARE YOU...!

"Ten more minutes..."

Dah! Nevermind! At this rate I'm going to be late no matter what, even if I ran. How am I supposed to get there in-

Oh, wait.

Oh, no.

Oh, yes.

...Oh, god.

"Er, Elmendorf?"

"Fifteen... moore..." She crooned in front of me, her face still down. It looks a little bit like a giant porcupine shivering, if you ignored the rest of the body attached to the head.

"Look, Elemndorf, get up or we're going to be late."

"...Twenty more minutes, ma mere..."

Elmendorf. Get up and DRIVE US TO CLASS WITH YOUR STUPID BIKE, YOU INSANE STUPID ROCK DEMON WHATEVER!

"Gah! Who kicked me!?"

Nobody.

My foot slipped.

At any rate, it got the psychotic rocker wannabe up, yawning with those pretty shark teeth of hers, and cracking her neck. She established eye contact, and after a few seconds:

"..Hi."

Okay, Chisame. Keep your cool. You can do this. She's up. Don't freak out again. Yet.

"Look, Elmendorf. Just get dressed and get us to school already. You're the one with the bike."

"Alright, alright. But I want steak first. Last night was hard work-"

"CLASS FIRST!"

* * *

Alright, looking at that demon machine that's sitting in the dorm car park right outside, maybe this was a bad idea.

I mean, I don't care about music class that much, after all. It was just to keep a good attendance, just for the sake of completeness. But if one doesn't really care about something they're doing... they don't really have to try... right?

Oh, who am I kidding? Kagurazaka would probably whine about putting your best effort in. And Miyazaki. Maybe Nagase, or Ku. Sensei, of course. He'd probably do it with a good speech.

Elmendorf just decides to do it by smacking me on the back really hard.

"Dah-!"

"Don't worry, chica! The Coyote Smith doesn't bite, nyo ho!"

Grinning Elmendorf, back in her usual get up that begs to be stuck by lightning, slinging another guitar and goggles over her eyes, while she rummaged around in the bags on the sides of the bike for what I hope is another helmet and not yet another twisted idea.

"Is that thing even safe to drive?"

Did you just give your bike a name? What the hell?

"Oh, come on! It's safer than safe!"

"And the rocket boosters?"

"Oh, don't worry, those are just mock ups. For fun!"

"...For fun."

"Yeah."

"And the Gatling gun?"

"Yeah, don't worry, that's fake too."

"Alright, and just to be extra clear on this, last night wasn't a dream, right? You actually own a laser sword, and you fought Mick Rastly."

Elmendorf scratched the back of her head, like she was embarrassed or something. Which I hope she is, with all the crap she's putting me through, and what I know she'll put me through in the future.

"Well, yeah... but it's technically designated a Beam Katana'tar, and Mick is... complicated. So I'll talk about it when we have lunch, yeh?"

Oh. Wait, don't make plans without me agreeing to this-Gagh!

Elmendorf had already tossed me a helmet and jumped onto her "Coyote Smith".

"Come on, Chica!"

Dah, fine. Fine. Just remember, because we're short on time doesn't mean we have to ruuaaaRGGGGHHHH!

The rest was a blur.

* * *

**Zahir Elmendorf Presents:**

"**Zahir Saving The World From Robots. Evil Ones. From Space. Yeah."**

**A Power Epic in 26 Parts.**

**Life Tale Garnished and Composed by Zahir Elmendorf.**

* * *

**02: ****"****Would you believe me if I said that we're in the middle of a totally awesome war?" - By Zahir**

* * *

"See?"

"Uoowwhhh...!"

That was the reaction of my intro music class, along with some scattered applause, as we waited outside the classroom for the prior class to finish up and clear out.

As for my reaction, I was giving more of a look that gave off a, "Are you insane!? What the hell!?"

It's not everyday that you see someone throw a knife into the air and catch it on the way down with the sheath. Or someone even wanting to try.

"Well, after all, there are only some things you can only learn in Canada!" Asakura Ryoko explained, with what was supposed to be a knife, but for some reason seemed to me more reminiscent of some ancient roman gladius. I mean, forget opening a tin can, Asakura what were you planning to do with that? Fillet an 18-wheeler!?

"YOOOSHAA! LET'S LEARN SOME MUSIC!"

"Fool! Be gone! Lelouch vi Britannia commands you, with all your-"

"H-hey, guys, can't we just get along...?"

"Yare Yare Daze..."

Oh, and most of the males in my class apparently share the same zeal and passion for showing off their eccentricities as much as Class A. Ugh. Well, as long as they don't start busting out... laser guns and whatever else.

At least the girls in my class seem otherwise normal. Save Asakura, who apparently learned some very strange things in Canada. Oh, and Sonozaki. I'm not quite sure what it is about her, but it seems that every time I see her getting along with Asakura, this chill goes down my spine. So there's something probably going down.

"Chica! That's totally awesome! That was brutally awesome!"

Ugh, Elmendorf. How can you manage to have so much energy? I mean, just a few hours ago... that can't be normal. Or even legal. I'm still tired, myself. I hate you so much.

I really wish "A few hours ago" really was a dream. My world view keeps getting messed up, at this rate. It's bad enough with my high school, but now this!?

If I'm not making myself clear on this issue, you really need to just see what happened for yourself.

* * *

"WHAT THE HELL!?"

"...Hey, chica!"

"Don't just 'hey' me! What's going on around here!? Why are you here!? What's with him!?"

Elmendorf's cheerful grin turned in an inquisitive stare, as she leaned in my direction, tucking the hand holding her "Beam Katana'tar" under her armpit, leaving the glowing implement to buzz behind her back, while she rubbed her chin with her overly sharp finger nails, staring at me.

I had a feeling that if she were closer, she her leaning forward would have involved invading my personal space, just because.

Also, Elmendorf, ignoring the scientific impossibility of that weapon you're carrying, you do realize how dangerous it is to hold it like that?

"Ooh... that is a good question. Why are you here?"

"Don't answer my question with the same one!"

She reared back, frantically waving, "Look, look, look! It's a bit complicated right now, so can we just like... well, I'll just get back to you later, I'm in the middle of something, till then!"

"Hey, wait-!"

Oh, yeah, like that's going to happen. Wow, that was one hell of a back flip onto the stage. Really. I'm about to watch Zahir Elmendorf fight Mick Rastly, who was until five seconds ago, talking like a robot. What's this world coming to?

And why is my brain continuing to insist this... pocket universe... thing, is somehow cyberspace?

"DOOORRYYAAA! Metal prevails, you insult to the music industreeee! OCeeeeee!"

Elmendorf screaming, waving her laser sword around with some surprising finesse.

"Honey! Chill out! You're nothing but a square now!"

And that's Rastly taunting, while still in character, dodging backwards from the spinning martial frenzy of Star Wars sound effects and Elmendorf's heels, his torso and head ducking under and twisting away from each blow, while his coat was conveniently billowing out in all these dramatic patterns. Well, to be fair, Elmendorf's own coat was showing off, too.

That was when Mick suddenly moved inside the crux of Elmendorf's arcs, and laid a one-two-three into her, a left-right into her chest, before meeting her face in another left. His fists made a crunch that certainly didn't quite seem possible for just bare fists.

Regardless. Ow.

"J-Jeez! Are you okay!?"

So yes, sue me for actually being concerned. Elmendorf just went rolling across the stage like a sack of potatoes. She also quickly went rolling into one handed somersault back onto her feet. So maybe my concerned was a little unfounded.

Where did she learn these moves? I sure couldn't see her doing gymnastics. Hell, imaging her in tights hurts enough already. If it were for real, we'd be having new reports of entire stadiums going blind.

"Don't worry, Chica! This is nothing for a Demon God of Rock! In Training!" Elmendorf shouted back to me with another of those gaudy thumbs up, but...

"Uh... Elmendorf. You're bleeding."

"W-What!? No, that's nothing!"

"Profusely from your mouth."

"O-Oh, that! He probably knocked out a tooth or two! Don't worry, they grow back pretty fast!"

'Grow back pretty fast'!? You only change teeth once in your life, you idiot!

"Look! Seriously! I don't know what that pop star is packing, but he's making you bleed! Wouldn't it be better if you-"

"Nup! I told you already! There's iron in blood! UP THE IRONS! RAAAGGH!"

And she charged back into the fray. Wow. She's stupid.

Mick Rastly also seemed to catch onto this, as amazingly, past his boyish charms that caught the hearts of many ditzes across the world, he sneered:

"More iron, baby!? Don't worry, I never turn down a girl's request-!"

And... holy crap, is he a lost relative of Karakuri!? How the hell did his arm turn into a Gatling gun!? I'm not talking about that B-Movie mock up Elemendorf had on her bike when she took me screaming to school tomorrow morning, I mean...

A fully. Working. Anti-Air. Rotary. Gun. The feed belt just disappears under the remains of his torn coat sleeve.

Elmendorf charge turned into a stumbling screech, "Oh crap!"

"Come on, baby! I'm the last love song on this little planet! You know you wanna hear me sing!"

Elmendorf leapt off the stage before his 'singing' ripped her heart out, but instead got a lot of air, torn up floor board, and the scaffolding on the opposite end of the stage melting into a puddle of goo.

Now I would be normally relieved at the safety of another human being. Or someone that looks relatively like one.

But she jumped into the bleachers. Where I am. Mick Rastly's still tracking her with his gun. Where I am.

Oh... Crap-!

Alright, I can't quite describe what happened here, but know that just as I hit the ground, most everything exploded around me in a series of thundering 'krak-pow's that nearly left. It sure did leave me dazed for several seconds.

Naturally, after I got the dust out of my lungs, the first thing that came out of them was a bellowing:

"ELMENDORF! SAVE YOURSELF IN A MANNER THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE KILLING ME!"

She easily landed on one of the seats on all fours, the handle of her laser sword between her sharp teeth. She sheepishly saluted in apology.

"A-Ah! Scchoowee!"

Cue serious look of professionalism, just before she jumped right up into the air to avoid another cone of lead (which is, in fact, not iron, Mick Rastly) chewing up where she was just crouching.

Wow. That explains how she's managed to stay alive so far. She can really jump. I mean, just vertically, I think she's already clearing about six meters. Now translate that into to a jump through the air towards Mick Rastly, while she narrowly avoiding the glow of cinematic tracer bullets just slicing under her feet. That's a lot of air time.

Okay. It's confirmed. Forget normalcy, Zahir Elmendorf is about as human as anyone in my old high school class. Great.

You'll notice me still doing this in deadpan, rather than hysterically freaking out, and dragging my lower jaw across the ground. That's because I ran out of "Jaw dropping" points about four years back. I was used up for the rest of my life, after I went through that year's annual Festival the third time.

That aside, Elmendorf finally jumped Rastly. Grabbing his head tight between her thighs momentarily, I was actually caught off guard when she _threw her only weapon high up into the air. _After that, she apparently flourished before an audience that existed only in her mind, as she flung out both her hands, formed into horns at the back wall. Then, locking her knees underneath Mick Rastly's armpits, she proceeded to swing underneath him, grab him by the back of his thighs while she was upside down, and the result momentum of her body slamming into the back of his knees, while her legs were simultaneously pulling him down, sent him flying head over heels, in a magnificently loud crash that left Elmendorf on her butt, while Rastly had landed on his shoulders and neck.

And that was how Zahir Elmendorf did a wrestling take down on Mick Rastly, who apparently was several hundreds of kilograms of mechanics.

Then again, it makes sense, weirdly enough. Muscles strong enough to propel a person some dozens of kilograms in weight, six meters into the air without much effort, should be able to toss a pop star with a Terminator Gun for an arm onto his back with sufficient force.

In short, Mick Rastly landing like that mustn't have been healthy. As if to drive the point home, Elmendorf's sword, which had been thrown into the air a few seconds ago, now conveniently and perfectly landed pointy end first into Mick Rastly's chest, sending him into convulsions as the laser blade sank into him, with sparks and smoke flying about.

Yeah. Mick Rastly, heartthrob of the pop music scene is a robot, for sure now. Or an "OC", whatever took to Elmendorf's pea brain for her to come up with that term.

That seems a lot less shocking, now that you think it aloud.

"Hey, chica! Did you like the show? Nyo ho ho!" Elmendorf hollered back my way, while she twisted her energized guitar neck free of the unmoving robot.

I refuse to answer straight to that. You're too weird.

"I don't care if he's a robot. You just killed the biggest pop star in the world. Tomorrow's going to be insane."

"Ah, don't worry about it. People won't even remember there was a guy supposed to be called Mick Rastly, when tomorrow comes!"

"...Are you part of some sort of musical conspiracy? This 'Demon God of Rock' business?"

The Mexican stood on the stage for a little bit, face scrunched up in thought. I prodded again. I think I even tapped my foot, with arms crossed.

"Well?"

"...Can I recharge my sword first? It's nearly out of batteries."

My tapping foot hit a loose pebble, making me nearly pitch forward into the next row of seats below me, if I wasn't flailing to regain balance. My head was also racing.

"Excuse me!?"

Elmendorf repeated with ridiculously sincere look, "My Katan'tar wasted most of its energy in the fight."

"Will anything really bad happen if you let it run out?"

"Well, no. I just don't like it to run out. It makes me feel irresponsible." Was, again, her sheepish response.

"...Ah, fine. I can wait that much longer-DAH! Behind you!"

I'm surprising how resilient technology can be these days. I heard of iPocks surviving lots of abuse, but seeing Mick Rastly get back up without a figurative sweat, given what his chest took, is really quite surprising. Elmendorf sure seemed off guard, as she managed to swivel around with her much dimmer sword in both hands, stopping Mick Rastly's machine gun arm from pounding in her head, though it seems they were pretty trapped like that, Elmendorf keeping Mr. Pop Star from pressing down anymore.

"Oh, you're pretty good, baby," Rastly managed to say, what with that sparking hole in the center of his nice black shirt, "But why you gotta break my heart?"

"Uh... did I? I mean, you're still kinda walking around. Normally, you guys break down for good when you're hit there."

"Oh, we improved."

"...Oh."

Well, I can see Elmendorf's just brimming full pithy comebacks. It's probably better this way. I'm not sure if I could take my roommate also being a smarmy wise ass on top of everything else she is already.

"Honey, if you really don't want me, then I've gotta just give my all to make you understand!"

Something happened then. I'm not quite sure of the process, but since we were in a pocket universe thing, the end result was a clean rectangular block of stage magically separating itself from the otherwise entirely solid ground of the amphitheater stage, driving straight upward into Elmendorf's abdomen.

She gave a rather unceremonious "Urk-", before she went flying up into the sky.

...That's not good. I don't care if she can survive jumping six meters. That is **not** six meters into the air, and she is certainly not recovering from that.

Crap. She really is falling. She's **definitely** going to die from that.

My instinct is still insisting I'm in the middle of cyberspace. The entire next part is me acting on instinct.

_"Adeat!"_

I unfortunately was forced to finally admit my whole participation in the world of the bizarre, once more. With my card out of my pocket, it was already giving off its brilliant flash as it transformed into what is, at first glance, a staff fit for a character from Mahou Shoujo anime. Thank god my Pactio actually has some utilitarian uses.

"Sceptrum Virtuale!"

Mick Rastly managed to look shocked, for a robot, "What!?"

I know I repeated this instinct business twice, like I already understood what was going to happen, but still seeing holographic computer screens and keyboards materialize about me and a suspended Sceptrum Virtuale, and my eight spirits buzz about elatedly, _while_ I'm still in my physical body, is still rather jarring, given my previous experience.

But I'll freak out about that later. Right now I'm trying to reverse the "Zahir Elmendorf Street Pizza" situation. My fingers were already racing across the glowing pads about me. Another surprise. For temporarily rewriting the physics of the local area, the process was as mundane as just writing code for a web page.

**Surface Placidity: 0000**

Save.

Zahir Elmendorf crashed into the ground, sending dust up everywhere. The sound was definitely wince worthy. She landed right beside her parked bike. It toppled on top of her.

"Dah-OW!"

Wince again.

Meanwhile, Pop Star was being his usual annoying self.

"Honey! I never composed about love triangles! This can't be!"

Rumbling behind me. My electronic array and I swirled around to find seats being flung in my direction with no visible source as to why. Child's play.

**Velocity Angulation: 0020**

Ducking slightly for caution, chairs went wide above me and around me. One even went into Rastly's unassuming face at full speed, bowling him over again.

"Dude! Chica! You can do the same things as them!?"

Look, let's not get into this...

"Well, anyways, we need to get out of here!"

Uh, what? "Weren't you all gungho about beating down Mick Rastly five minutes ago?"

"Hey! I can't fight him anymore as he is! He's messing with reality and stuff like that! You want me to fight that!?"

Uh...

Mick Rastly was getting up.

"Point taken."

Elmendorf had already pried herself out from under her own bike, and was already seated atop it. Also, somehow, without me noticing, she had already gotten her "sheath" back for her sword, the whole thing neatly clipped together on her back in the imitation of a guitar. She waved to me.

"Come on, Chica! We gotta go!"

Dah, fine. Fine. Just remember, because we're escaping doesn't mean we have to ruuaaaRGGGGHHHH!

The rest was a blur.

* * *

That brings us up to now. Myself fairly unamused, while Elmendorf was walking around all gaily like nothing happened last night, while we walked to one of the local cafes for lunch.

"Ah! It's a good thing you came when you did, chica! You sure saved my butt out there!"

I was there the entire time, anyways. It should have been the other way around.

"That aside, can you tell me what exactly is going on, Elmendorf!?"

"I guess I can't put it off anymore. Ah, here!"

It was a nice day today, so the cafe, being all excessively Parisian like Mahora was able to afford, had open doors, tables out in the middle of the sidewalk, parasols set up, and fresh air blowing by the counter where the 'bar keep' was.

"Hey! Bar keep! Us two want drinks!"

"What'll it be?"

"Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a Kina Lillet. Shake it over ice, and a thin slice of lemon."

* * *

"...Kina Lillet doesn't exist, anymore. Even if it did, we don't sell alcoholic beverages here."

"Oh... Guava juice, then?"

Me, I'll just have a glass of water. And Tylenol if you have any.

* * *

By the time we got our drinks and found a table for two, Elmendorf was tapping her forehead, thinking very hard.

"Hmmm... where do I start?"

"With what exactly, is a Demon God of Rock, and what do they have to do with killing multi million dollar music icons?"

"What!? You make it sound like they're evil or something..." Elmendorf snorted, folding her arms.

Though, please think about it. They explicitly named themselves as demons. Not to mention my current reputation of them exists solely as this frenetic psychopath. I digress.

"Look, what are they?"

"Demi-Deitic, Supernatural purveyors of the universal elements that binds this universe together by the catharsis and domestication of aggressive, chaotic elements, thereby achieving the calming of planes of galatic energy, and assisting the betterment of human being! We are druids and bards of the steeeel!"

Hard to be impressed when it sounds like she just randomly took words out of a dictionary. Demi-Deitic?

"What, so you're saying you're training to be a god?"

Elemendorf waved that thought off.

"Nah, nah. The most lowly beings like us can hope to achieve in our current lives is to be a Natural DGoR. Though maybe if I'm lucky, I can achieve enlightenment and become Supernatural! But it seems like all usually do is tour the universe and dimensions."

She actually believes all of this.

"I know, I know. Hard to believe. But they update their blogs frequently. You can read them at Diespace."

I reiterate. She believes blogs of garage bands across the world are communique with a pantheon of beings that tour the universe, holding rock concerts. What the hell.

"I have a hard time believing you."

"Hey! You were in another dimension just yesterday night, chica!"

"Yeah. But I was actually there. That's entirely different from believing someone on the Internet, particularly if they're taking a supernatural stance. One thing at a time please."

"Ah, fine, fine..."

"Diespace is some sort of networking site for DGoR?"

Elmendorf seemed ecstatic I made the leap in logic. Probably because there's one human being in all of Japan who's bothering to try and understand her.

"Oh yeah, I mean, DGoRs across the world, talking together."

"And taking bounties for robots, which you haven't told me about, yet."

"Oh, them. Yeah. You ever played that old video game, "Snatcher"?"

"Kind of."

That is to say, I simply watched someone play the entire game on Yo-Tube.

Still, "What about it?"

"You really wanna know the truth?"

"Just spit it out."

She beckoned me to close in, across the table. Somehow I know I'm going to regret this. I'm going to hit her if she suddenly shouts into my ear. Regardless, she cupped her hand, connecting her whispering mouth to the side of my head.

Elmendorf answered quietly, with all due sincerity and seriousness, "...We've been invaded by aliens from outer space. Some of us think they're French."

Ugh. At least my deadpan is still functioning at its most droll.

"...What?"

Elmendorf slid back into her seat, "Look, I know it's a big surprise, especially with them being French, but hear me out."

This is me trying very hard. Ugh. (French!? What the hell?)

"Now, Mick Rastly never appeared in person, right?"

"Right."

"Though he appears all over the Internet, right?"

"So?"

"Don't you think it's curious? A person who's never appeared in person? All we have are pictures and songs."

Elmendorf grinned, folding her arms and legs while sitting, "You should understand! You use Photoshock!"

Wait a minute.

"...What, you're saying Mick Rastly is a figment of the Internet?"

"An imaginary icon created by the French aliens, in order to inspire fannish devotion! They're invading through the music industry!"

Oh, that's so bullocks. I wish it were so bullocks.

"Elmendorf, before my brain shorts out from how much crap your spewing out, just say it. Now."

"You sure?"

"My brain is about to hemorrhage."

The DGoR in training shrugged.

"Alright... when the aliens put up one of their cheap music icons, something about their websites and their music, and everything related to the guys like Mick Rastly, produce some sort of brainwashing thingy, given that you listen to it enough. But it's not just like brainwashing. It's like... messing with reality itself, so that it becomes the norm that everyone worships the ground Mick Rastly is on, even though he actually doesn't exist. This brainwashy thing we call an Origin Override Code."

"What's with the robot, then?"

"That's the finishing touch, in order to bring about total world domination! An Organism Cybernetique! With enough people attending an actual concert by a robot, a huge, real life Code envelopes the world! DAMN THE FRENCH! DAMN THEM AND THEIR FLYING PYRAMIDS!"

I groaned. Elmendorf just had to pronounce that last line with standing on her chair. People are looking at us. People are noticing I'm associating with her. Not the mention her story. Somewhere, the god of subtlety is dying as gracefully as Monty Python killing Mary, Queen of Scots.

Elmendorf was oblivious to the world, as she got back down and looked me in the eye.

"And taking over the world is something we Demon Gods of Rock stand in the way of! Across the world, the many of us are fighting valiantly to prevent these guys from taking over the world! We're here to protect real music!"

You mean, protect heavy metal.

"That's why, I've decided Chica! For world peace, I'll take you on as my partner!"

...What?

...WHAT THE HELL!?

Nevermind the wording, she was on her knees, holding my hand with this bubbly look in her eyes! With people looking this way!

Naturally, my chair upended in the opposite direction.

"DRUUAGGAh-WHAT!?"

Ow, my head.

"Come on, Chica! We're roommates, anyways! For world peace!"

"W-what are you talking about!? Why me!?"

Does someone out there hate me that much!?

"Look! You saw that fight last night! Even though I'm good, an OC still has total control over places where the Origin Override Code is! But you can do the same thing, right? And you obviously didn't listen to enough of Mick's music to get all brainwashed! I usually can't fight once he gets all serious like that, but with you at my side, we're unbeatable!"

I managed to get up, in spite of this sudden bombshell trying to wipe out my attempt to reboot my life.

"Please, no."

"Aw, come on, Chica-"

"No! Look! I just want to go to university and get on with my life! Not do all this stuff again!"

"Again!"

"The point is! It doesn't really matter if the world gets changed like that! It happens all the time, right? Society resets it new standards of normalcy every once in a while, right? You guys are just... rebelling against the inevitable!"

Elmendorf pouted, hands on her hips.

"Well if the new norm involves crappy music, I don't want to be a part of it!"

"Fine."

"But what about you? Think about the Code! Everybody's going to change! Imagine the sweetest girl becoming the exact opposite!"

* * *

Okochi Akira roared at her swimming team.

**"You idiot! You call that swimming!? Don't make me laugh! MATSUDA! You're not some cat drowning in a puddle! SWIM! SWIIIIIIM! I'll show you how it's done, so watch closely! YOU SLOW PIECE OF SHIT!"**

She moved on, regardless of the member in question breaking down into tears.

"**In freestyle, pull your arms out of the water, elbows first! Then take that arm and reach out in front of you! Make sure you extend all the way! Don't forget to breath!"**

Akira wheezed for a second at that

"**Then dip your finger tips into the water and follow through with your entire arm! DON'T SLAP THE SURFACE OF THE WATER LIKE SOME PATHETIC TWAT! WATER RESISTANCE IS HUGE! Then! Part the water with all your strength! This is where you accelerate! Everything will be decided by how much strength you put into this motion! CRAWL WITH ALL YOUR STRENGTH! WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT! As if your life depended on it! Go for gold in the Beijing Olympics!"**

She plunged into the pool, head first, thrashing.

**"UN! DEUX! TROIS! DO IT WITH ME EVERYBODY! UN! DEUX! TROIS!"**

Amidst the foaming at the mouth, along with the water, one of the students meekly piped up.

"...She didn't explain how to kick..."

* * *

...Okay, so maybe there's that, but I'll get over it. All that really matters is just going on, quietly, and my website-

"That's right, Chica! You love your website, right!? But you're being shut down by the aliens!"

Wait, hold the phone.

"But, if you help me get rid of the OCs that appear, then all their online stuff disappears like it never existed!"

Ugh.

"So you're saying if I help you, it'll get my ratings back?"

"Is that what you want from your website? I mean, I'm no good with online stuff..."

Oh, I hate this universe so much now.

"Fine. FINE! I'll help you for now. If this is what it takes to get my website go where it should be. As long as this stuff doesn't get in the way of my school!"

Elmendorf was already upon me, grabbing my hand and viciously shaking it.

"Chica! You won't regret this! I promise! Let's go tonight and win victory!"

"No. I need a few days to work this out in my head."

"But Mick's concert is then! We can't wait!"

"We're waiting. We have class."

"...We still have class?"

"Yes. We do."

"Well, as long as there's music in our hearts...!"

And so on and so on. Obviously, I did something wrong, somewhere in my life. But, if this gets my ratings back...!

"By the way, Chica..."

"What?"

"I noticed you're taking the news pretty well. I'm guessing normal people usually freak out?"

"...I've had some practice getting used to bad news."

* * *

You can think of life like Toilet Paper. It just keeps on going, and it has multiple uses. You can use it for rope, or fling it at someone. Sometimes you meet good toilet paper with lots of layers, sometimes you meet bad ones which only have one layer, or are simply too thick. I think toilet paper and messages are the same. Once you get all of it out, you can get to the real fun.

Next up, "In the end, dashing good looks are only a door to desire. The follow through is entirely your own effort." By Nao.


End file.
